A Life Worth Living
by Fox Murphy
Summary: A collection of drabbles, snapshots in the lives of the members of the Order of the Phoenix, past and present. Completed for the Speed Drabble Challenge at first order. Light and dark and love and loss and above all, a life worth living.
1. Misunderstandings

"We were just playing around, Molly!" Gideon pounded his fist on the table for extra emphasis, sending plates and silverware skittering and crashing away. If possible, Molly only looked more furious, her face scarlet.

"War isn't playing, Gideon. Bill and Charlie are too young for that sort of thing!"

Gideon's frustration exploded in a shower of sparks and broken ceramic. Fabian should be here, Fabian should be agreeing with him, defending him, calming Molly down.

"It was just a game of hide and seek!"

"Whatever it was upset the boys - Arthur still hasn't gotten them calmed down," Molly snapped, gesturing toward the stairs, where the occasional wail could still be heard.

"It's because they're scared. They seem to think there's bad people out there trying to kill us all. I wonder where they could have heard something like that?" Gideon asked lightly,a dangerous challenge. Molly's face reached an alarming shade of red that Gideon suspected was beginning to match his own.

"Are you suggesting this is my fault?" Molly's eyes narrowed, each word edged with disbelief. Gideon scowled and ignored her, instead yanking open the kitchen door. Molly's shouts quickly faded in the roar of the wild spring night.


	2. Lights Out

Fabian guessed he ought to be at the Burrow, ought to be keeping Molly and Gideon from killing each other. At the moment, however, the only thing that Fabian really wanted to be doing, the only place he wanted to be, was here at Dorcas' small house, pounding on the front door. He had to see her, had to know she was alright. And the moment she opened the door, golden light framing her face, half-awake and hair tousled with sleep, Fabian leaned forward and kissed her soundly.

"Come inside," Dorcas breathed, "Come inside and turn off the lights."


	3. Idle Words

"You know," Alice said slowly, "Benjy Fenwick fancies you."

Marlene had been levitating a set of spell books up to Kingsley, who waited on the landing of the next floor. The books toppled back down to the carpet with a dull crash, and Marlene turned to stare at her best friend. Benjy was a Muggleborn boy had been a year ahead of them at Hogwarts, a short boy with messy strawberry curls and round glasses. He had always been nice enough, a friend of the Prewetts, and a Gryffindor, if Marlene recalled correctly. She had never, to her knowledge, spoken more than a few words to him during her entire Hogwarts career. The idea that this almost stranger fancied her seemed utterly ridiculous.

"Says who?"

"Well, I was talking to Joanna Dearborn the other day, and she said that one of her friends works with Benjy, and that while they were working one day he came in asking if anyone knew you," Alice waved her wand at the fallen books, sending them up to Kingsley in a smooth motion. Kingsley seemed to be trying very hard not to laugh, though that effort vanished as soon as he left edge of the landing. His deep, rolling laugh was so loud that Marlene might as well have been standing next to him. She resolved to hex him later.

"First, let's consider the source. Joanna Dearborn - known gossip. Really?" Marlene gave Alice a very pointed look. "Secondly, I haven't even seen Benjy in years."

"He's an Unspeakable," Kingsley reappeared at the landing, laughter under control. "He's probably seen you at the Ministry."

Marlene had in fact been at the Ministry quite often over the last year or so, mostly for Auror training. She never once, however, remembered seeing anyone who resembled Benjy Fenwick.


	4. Forthrightness

Tracking down the elusive Benjy Fenwick turned out to be quite a difficult task, Marlene discovered. After her conversation with Alice, Marlene had resolved to find the mysterious Benjy and interrogate him personally. She simply had to know the truth. However, she was beginning to find that locating an Unspeakable was unspeakably problematic, because no one could really talk about them. She knew where the Department of Mysteries was, of course, and she knew how to get there. What she did not know was how to get inside, or even if she did get past the door, where to begin looking. Her current plan, therefore, was to sit in the hallway outside the Department, glaring at the door every so often and questioning anyone who happened to pass by. A few of the Unspeakables, the younger ones, made an attempt at conversation. Most of the older wizards simply ignored her entirely. Marlene was therefore both bored and frustrated when the unfortunate Benjy Fenwick finally made an appearance. The door to the Department of Mysteries opened, and out came a man with strawberry curls and round glasses, studying a roll of parchment as he walked.

"Oi, Fenwick!"

Marlene was on her feet in an instant, and her shout seemed to jar Benjy out of his focus entirely, resulting in him dropping the parchment he had been holding. The roll turned out to be charmed, and in reality was quite large, and papers scattered across the hallway in all directions. Benjy's face turned a deep shade of red, and Marlene instantly felt a bit bad about her greeting.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," Marlene summoned all the papers with a flick of her wand, mindful not to let any of them crinkle or fold.

"That's alright," Benjy gingerly pressed a hand to his still glowing face. "I take it my face is quite red?" Marlene nodded with a small smile, and Benjy sighed regretfully. "I can always tell. Ah well. You're Marlene, right? Ravenclaw, year behind me, that sort of thing?"

"I certainly am," Marlene made an attempt to shake hands, difficult while holding the stack of papers. Benjy took the stack from her and tapped it once with his wand, vanishing all traces of the parchment entirely. His face had almost returned to normal color when Marlene began her next assault.

"So, Benjy, I'm told you might fancy me."


	5. Broom Closets

Sturgis typically enjoyed his work in the Department of Mysteries. He enjoyed deciphering ancient codes and toying with the very essence of magic. He even enjoyed some of his colleagues, at least the ones who knew how to have a well-adjusted social life and could manage complete, non-work related conversation. What he did not enjoy, however, was the discovery that one of his colleagues, a certain Benjy Fenwick, had brought a girl to work and decided to convert the Beauty room into a very well decorated broom closet. Sturgis had been tempted to chuck him through the veil.


	6. Fortunate

Benjy Fenwick considered himself blessed twice over. He had always considered himself blessed at least once ever since he was eleven and had received a letter from a magical school in far away Scotland. The fact that he was wizard, that he could do real magic, that he wasn't just the youngest son of a banker and a teacher, that was a blessing at least, a miracle at most. He had never considered himself doubly blessed until now, lying in bed beside Marlene, gazing at the ceiling and not caring that she had stolen all the covers in her sleep.


	7. Meant to Be

James had taken hold of her hand, leading the way down a rickety set of stairs and onto the shore of the lake. Twilight had just begun to fall and his wand was raised, enveloping them in a white glow. Lily had no idea where they were and where they were going, and while she liked to think she had a nice sense of adventure, sometimes it was nice to have a plan. Plans, however, were quite unlikely to happen when James insisted on being in charge of the evening. They reached a weeping willow, it's branches thick as a curtain, and James pulled back the leafy door and motioned for Lily to steps inside. She frowned uncertainly at him for a moment before she passed beneath the branches and gasped once she was inside. The trunk of the tree was wrapped in fairy lights that sparkled and shifted and glowed. Floating bubbles wandered through the air above her, pink and green and orange and entirely beautiful. The willow was alive with magic, the stars just barely visible somewhere far overhead.

"It's beautiful," Lily breathed, turning to kiss James and stopping, hands pressed to her mouth when she saw him. He had entered the willow ring as well, only now he was down on one knee, holding a ring between his fingers that sparkled in the shifting lights.

"Lily," James looked nervous for half a second, "on the day you were born, all of the angels watching must have realized that they'd witnessed the birth of the most beautiful girl in the world. And on the day I was born, they realized they'd seen the birth of the world's greatest Quidditch player."

Lily snorted and would have thumped him on the head if he was not genuinely trying to be charming. She let him continue.

"And then we ran across each other, and the angels said to each other "Bloody hell, they're meant to be, I'm sure of it.""

The idea of angels swearing seemed a bit of a stretch to Lily, but she made no vocal argument about the matter.

"We didn't get along at first, mostly because I was an idiot, but I truly have loved you from the start, and I don't want to spend another day without you. Marry me, Lily Evans?"

Lily feigned thought for half a moment, watching James squirm, ring in hand.

"Absolutely."


	8. And We'll Go Dancing

James tugged Lily away from the table before she had a chance to protest, seizing her hand and neatly managing not to bash her knees on the table in the process.

"What you are doing?" Lily whispered menacingly.

James stopped when they reached the space away from the tables, grinning and sliding one arm around her waist.

"Can you hear the music?"

She blinks twice, feet slow to respond as he takes the lead.

"Well...yes."

"Then we're dancing," James grinned and lost himself in the rhythm of the steps and the music, Lily beautiful and graceful and entirely his.


	9. Little Moments

"Come on Neville, there's a good lad."

Alice Longbottom watched as Frank kneeled on the floor, grinning broadly as he led a toddling Neville in a series of stumbled half-steps. Neville's chubby toddler's fingers all but vanished in Frank's big hands, and his little face was screwed up in concentration, staring at his feet. Slowly, Frank let go, and for a moment Neville looked wildly panicked. Alice was about to reach down and rescue her son from the imminent fall to the carpet, but Neville was already moving again, awkward and stumbling into his father's arms. Frank laughed and bundled Neville safely into his arms, standing and lifting the toddler easily off the floor. Neville squealed happily and Frank pressed a kiss to his son's forehead.

"You see that Alice? Our son can walk," Frank declared, beaming proudly. Alice left her seat on the sofa and took Neville, who was still smiling happily.

"Such a smart boy," Alice murmured, smoothing Neville's hair. She supposed with all the darkness and war, one always had to celebrate the small things. The little happy moments in life. It was at that moment Alice realized that no one had taken a single picture.


	10. Happiness Is

After long days spent arguing with uptight witches and wizards who pretended to scoff at Voldemort but were truly, deeply, terrified of him, Edgar Bones never failed to be happy to return home. The Wizanagamot was all stiff rules and proper words, but here in the wide backyard no such sense of propriety existed. There were only brown haired children, freckled and shouting and laughing wildly. Edgar only had a moment to take a step back, to watch, before he was spotted at the edge of the yard and the children were running at him, grinning and yelling with delight.


	11. Shadows

In the bright lights of day, when shadows and darkness faded to whispered memories of a long and deep black night, Severus Snape could almost forget what he had done. He could almost forget the acrid smell of smoke and fear and death. He could almost forget the brand on his arm and the ache in his heart and the horrible, horrible guilt that threatened to consume him whole. He could pretend the world was all sharp angles and sunlit patches of earth. He could pretend he was safe. And then daylight faded into inky night, and the shadows returned.


	12. Curiosity and Cats

Emmeline's mother had driven her positively mad with the constant references to curiosity and cats and what the ultimate result tended to be. Once, when she was fifteen, Emmeline had retorted with a snapped reply of "_Satisfaction brought it back"_. The gentle teasing all but vanished after that. Besides, Emmeline really wasn't particularly nosy, not like some girls. She was just curious, easily interested. She liked to follow the trail of bread crumbs, see what great secret they led to. This was precisely why she had decided to follow Severus Snape, ignoring all the old warnings of cats and curiosity.


	13. Bystanders

Kingsley had apparently chosen precisely the right time to arrive home. His small house, the one he had inherited from his grandparents, appeared to be surrounded by a moving mass of people. Panic flared within him at the sight of dark, billowing cloaks, at the thought that he Death Eaters had found him at last. The crowd however, was not at all masked, although they did seem to be quite displeased. Largely the mob seemed to consist of his neighbors, members of the small magical community that Kingsley and the house belonged to.

"Good evening everyone," Kingsley swallowed back another wave of panic and forced a cheery smile. "What can I do for you?"

The apparent leader of the mob, an elderly wizard named Charles Copperpot, cleared his throat and pointed his hand in the general direction of Kingsley's house.

"We want her gone."

Now thoroughly confused, Kingsley turned and followed Copperpot's gesture. On the front porch waited a certain Mrs. Shacklebolt, wrapped in a bathrobe and shivering in the cold night air. And she also looked distinctively angry.

"You want my wife gone?" Kingsley asked dryly, returning his attention to Copperpot once more.

"She's a muggle! She'll bring the Death Eaters after us all!" Copperpot hissed, earning a murmured agreement from the rest of the crowd. Kingsley frowned and shook his head, disbelief swarming over him. These were his neighbors. These were good and kind and gentle people who had sent gifts to his wedding a few months ago. War did terrible things to people, Kingsley acknowledged with a sigh.

"Go home, all of you. Or I'll call the Auror Department," Kingsley said wearily. Copperpot looked fully prepared to insist on further argument, but Kingsley tapped his wand against the insignia on the front of his own scarlet robes. Auror robes. Copperpot grumbled and issued a few more threats and then led his mob away. Kingsley waited until most of the neighbors had returned to their residences before he crossed the yard and grabbed his wife into his arms.

"I was so scared," she murmured, her eyes squeezed shut.

"You didn't look it," Kingsley assured her.

"Thank you, for getting here when you did. They were...I think they were going to come and get me."

"Shh," Kingsley pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I'm here and you're safe, and that's all the thanks I need."


	14. Second Thoughts

The switch had been Sirius' idea, of course, and he insisted on talking to Peter himself. Just as he had expected, Peter had been doubtful at first, hesitant almost, in a way that reminded Sirius of the school boys they had all been not long ago. But Sirius had been persuasive as ever, and now he sat in the Potter's house, watching as James and Lily and Peter worked the Fidelius Charm. Light flared in the semi-darkness, catching Peter's face in an odd, hungry expression, and for a moment Sirius had a horrible thought. What if this was a mistake? What if he had been the one meant to be the Secret-Keeper, not Peter? The light faded to a dull glow, and there were spoken words and the whisper of old, deep magic as the spell was completed. Sirius pushed the sudden worry to the back of his mind as the lights returned. In the safe, solid glow, the world returned to being safe and solid as well. Lily vanished upstairs with Harry, James tinkered with the Wireless, trying to catch a Quidditch match, and no one paid any mind to Peter quietly slipping out the back door.


	15. Ruins

He doesn't know what time it is, or how long he's been lying in the floor. An age has passed, a thousand seasons, an eternity since his world came tumbling down in a rush of green light and broken promises. He only knows of the terrible pain in his heart, as though someone has ripped it pieces and shoved the broken remains back inside his chest. He's sobbing, harsh, racking sobs that hurt his back, and he's been crying for as long as he can remember. Everyone is gone, and he remains, lying within the broken pieces of the world.


	16. Cold

The day seemed ridiculously sunny, the world too cheerful and bright. Sunlight shimmered on the edges of marble headstones, row upon row of wizards and witches who had died too young. Hestia Jones shook her head, feeling burnt and out of place and raw in the bright sunlight. The world should be mourning, should be soaking the ground with raindrops and tears. Her friends had died, and the world simply went on. Hestia breathed a prayer for the fallen, those cold beneath the ground. Those who would never again feel the sunlight in the world they had died to save.


	17. High Costs

After the third party woke her, loud and raucous and obviously drunk, Minerva abandoned her flat and returned to her private quarters at Hogwarts. She had spent the summer living in London, helping fight a war she thought would never end. She had spent the summer watching the boys and girls who had been her students grow up, watched their youth and innocence and life fall prey to a wizard who had never cared who he hurt. And now Minerva was back at school, and she had hoped her return would make her feel safe, restore her balance in a world that felt terribly crooked. Only instead of safety, she found a fresh layer of memories that had been untouched by the war and the darkness. Memories of the Prewett twins, vibrant and alive. Of Benjy Fenwick, sweet and shy. Caradoc Dearborn and his little sister, Edgar Bones and his younger brother. Fiery Lily Evans, always so in love with the magic of this world. Marlene McKinnon and Dorcas Meadows, chasing boys down by the lake. James Potter and his little gang of troublesome boys who Minerva had nevertheless loved as though they were her own children. And now they were gone, all of them gone. The Prewetts had been murdered by an army of Death Eaters in a dark alley. Most of the Order suspected Bellatrix Lestrange was responsible for Benjy Fenwick's death. Edgar and Marlene had both been killed alongside their entire families. Caradoc had never been found, and Dorcas had been killed by the Dark Lord himself. James and Lily Potter had died protecting the son they would never know. Peter Pettigrew had been killed by a boy he had all but worshipped at school. And the survivors were no better off, Minerva knew. They were all broken and scarred, their former selves as dead as their friends. This then was the high cost of freedom, the price of victory. Minerva felt a fresh wave of helplessness, of the bitterest regret. She had loved these children, watched over them, and in the time when they needed her most, she had failed to save them. She was sobbing, slumped against the window, and she almost failed to hear the door open. Then there were strong arms around her and she buried her face in Alastor's shoulder as he held her, whispering _It's not your fault_ over and over.


	18. Look At Me

Alastor's words have been grumbled and slow since he returned from St. Mungo's, his eyes trailing over the carpet, the furniture, anything but her face, and it's driving Minerva slowly insane. She knows all about what happened, all about the Death Eaters and the danger and all about injuries. She's watched him talking to the boys in the Order, who treat his scars like some prized medal they can only hope to one day achieve. And with them he's always the same as he was before, gruff and sharp and loving in his own way. He wears the scars like a badge of honor because that's what these boys need to see. But around her, he's always hesitant, half-turning his face away to hide the damage, and she knows his act with the boys is just that - an act. He's embarrassed, more ashamed of the scars than he's willing to admit, and Minerva knows it's because he's afraid she won't look at him the same. That this will change everything, ruin everything, and he's already prepared himself for what he deems the inevitable. Which is precisely why Minerva catches him alone in the kitchen one day and forces him to talk to her. She can only tolerate a moment of his mumbled speech and his downcast eyes, of the hand that has strayed over the damaged side of his face, before she reaches out and jerks the hand away. He's stunned and embarrassed, his face rapidly reddening, and for a moment he looks angry. Then the anger passes and he's only sad, half-heartedly trying to tug his hand free and already turning away. His movements, his expression, both are heartbreaking to watch, and Minerva puts a gentle hand to his chin and turns his face toward her once more. The scarring is terrible, no one can deny that. But the scars have not changed who he is, and for a moment Minerva sees the boy he had been during their school days, not exactly fair of face but handsome and dark eyed and dashing in his own way. That boy has been gone a long time, but some of his same self-consciousness lingers in the way Alastor's eyes are watching her confusedly. And she kisses him, not the dashing boy he was but the scarred man he is now, gently tracing over the scars with her fingertips.


	19. Opposites

She was bright, neon colors, never-ending energy that glowed all around her. He was faded naturals, an array of warm earth tones worn down by the years. Her smile was huge and eager, her laughter quiet giggles. His grin was crooked and offhand, desperately casual, and his loud, rolling laugh had surprised her on more than one occasion. She was small and fairy-light, save for the moments when her feet encountered the ground and betrayed her clumsily. He was tall and wiry, full of grace that came to him easily. And he always caught her when she fell.


	20. Between

The world outside was still and quiet, coated in a thick layer of snow. Frost sparkled on the window pane, swirls of grey and white and stars against the velvety blue night sky. Remus was content to watch the world, enjoy the quiet and peace of this space between. The day had been hectic and dangerous, tomorrow was sure to be as well. The price of being at war, Remus admits to himself, is that you have to work to find a moment of peace. Finally, here in this snowy, starry night, he had found a moment at last when all the world was at rest. He stiffened as footsteps creaked on the floorboards behind him and arms slid around his waist.

"Hello Dora," he murmured, mouth quirking up in a smile.

"You left," Dora's pout may have been hidden but the tone was unmistakable. Remus had been prepared to explain himself when a pair of unpleasantly cold hands slide beneath his pajama shirt and trailed across his skin. He hissed and turned abruptly, coming face to face with a pink haired Dora, who was presently grinning mischievously. Remus felt reasonably confident sleep was the last thing on her mind now. Not that he really felt like sleeping himself. Dora was already up on her tiptoes and Remus bent to kiss her, her hands still tracing paths across his chest.

"I'm terribly sorry," he breathed between kisses. "How can I make it up to you?"

Dora responded by removing her hands from his shirt and running them instead through his hair, pulling his mouth back to hers once more. Remus responded by lifting her easily from the floor, never breaking the kiss. At least, not until they toppled, onto the nearby bed, the blankets warm and Dora leaning over him.


End file.
